


Love Will Have Its Sacrifices

by Serafaerosa



Series: Head Vs. Heart [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Clarke, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, But mostly angst, F/F, G!P Clarke, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Omega!Lexa, PWP, Temporary Character Death (Referenced), but also fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serafaerosa/pseuds/Serafaerosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending for You're All I Ever Loved (So Come On And Hate Me).</p><p>Lexa is not sure she's making the right decision in going to Clarke in Camp Jaha. But she has lived, sacrificed, and died for her people, and now she needs closure. They both do.</p><p>Set after Lexa's death at the Ice Queen's palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lordofdeathn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordofdeathn/gifts).



> This was intended to be a one-shot, but it came out too long and I didn't have the heart to edit anything out.
> 
> No smut in chapter 1. Sorry! But there's a very important heart-to-heart and the other two chapters are basically all boinking. Enjoy!

Leksa is not sure she’s making the right decision. After being rejected so many times by the woman she loves… she thinks one more rejection will break her, but she’s already broken and what will it matter? Indra continues to ask her over and over if she’s sure, and Leksa can’t tell if it is disapproval or worry or both that color Indra’s words when she asks. But she knows, no matter what happens next, Indra at least will stand by her side. She always has.

Her knee hurts. They have been riding for days, and will arrive at the gate of Camp Jaha in a few hours. It’s humiliating to ride in the back of a wagon, but her legs are still weak from over a month of immobility and her shattered knee hurts too much to ride on the back of a horse instead. So she digs her fingers into her thigh and holds her leg as steady as she can and holds on to the last shreds of stoicism she has. If she shows even the slightest amount of pain on her face, Indra will stop the caravan to make her rest and Leksa has rested enough.

Even if Klark continues to reject her, she is impatient to reach her alpha. Because she is no longer Heda and she can offer Klark everything now, and despite everything she still has hope. She has been just surviving for far too long, and she thinks maybe… maybe she _does_ deserve more than that.

“It hurts.”

It’s not a question, but a statement. An observation. Leksa looks up from her blank stare at the ground receding beneath her feet to meet Indra’s opaque brown eyes. Despite her best efforts, she cannot hide from Indra. She has never been able to hide anything from Indra. Rather than lie, or make excuses, Leksa simply nods. But before Indra can call out for a halt, Leksa reaches across the empty feet of space to touch her arm and shake her head firmly.

“Not until we reach Camp Jaha. I can rest then,” Leksa insists. Even to her own ears, her voice sounds cracked and dry and tired. She doesn’t speak much anymore, she has little to say, and she hates the way her pain throbs in every word.

At first, she thinks Indra will ignore her. She is not Heda anymore, and Indra does not have to obey her. But Indra stares at her for a long moment, then nods, and they press on.

Leksa does not know what she will say to Klark when she sees her. She doesn’t know what she will do. A big part of her wants to just fall into Klark’s arms and hold her, but a big part of her is also terrified. Terrified that Klark will still reject her, terrified that her sacrifice will not have been enough. She thinks maybe it would have been best to stay in Polis, to recover there, to let Klark think she’s dead. She almost did. It was only Indra’s challenge, only her accusation that - without Heda’s Spirit - she is weak, that stirred Leksa to action. And it was the hope that Klark might finally allow herself to love her back that gives her the strength and the bravery to keep moving now. It was Kwin Nia’s words on the battlefield before she fell that echo in Leksa’s ears.

 

They arrive at Camp Jaha in the middle of the night. The guards posted along the fence don’t give her a second glance. Leksa thinks perhaps that the threat she once posed to them is gone… but perhaps it is simply that they don’t recognize her. Her hair is loose from its braids, her skin is paler than it used to be, she hobbles weakly on her leg when she exits the caravan and her stare simply does not hold the same weight or intensity it used to. The guards smile distractedly at her and start packing the caravans away. Young boys and girls, still bleary-eyed with sleep, come to care for the horses. Belomi comes out to greet the midnight visitors and gives her a long, hard look before recognition sets in.

“Lexa?” He asks, sounding entirely unsure of himself. Leksa ducks her head in shame, because she knows she has not physically changed so much that Belomi should not recognize her. For a moment, he drinks her in, his eyebrows creased in confusion. When Leksa forces herself to look up at him again, she sees that he is taken off-guard. His lips are pulled back at the corners, there is a line crinkled between his eyes, and Leksa knows he can smell her fear and apprehension at this meeting.

“Please,” Leksa cringes over the word, ashamed at how weak her voice sounds, “I need to see Klark.”

“You do?” Belomi crosses his arms over his chest, and Leksa ducks her head in embarrassment again when Indra comes to stand beside her. Because Belomi looks at Indra instead for confirmation - as if it is Indra’s decision to make. She cringes, because it is obvious that Belomi has caught on immediately to the shift in power, to Leksa’s loss of status. His deferment to Indra may be subconscious, but it is a blow to the gut regardless. He seems to want to ask what happened, but catches himself at the last minute, turns, and leads them away.

Despite Belomi’s slow pace, Leksa struggles with her cane. The earth beneath her feet is smooth, packed and solid, but she is still learning how to get around on her damaged leg and it aches with every step. By the time they arrive in front of a small, dark cabin, she is panting heavily with exertion and a sweat has sprung from her pores. The late-fall breeze that skirts around them cools it and raises goosebumps across her skin, and combined with the nerves she feels roiling in her gut, it makes her feel colder than the frigid temperatures of the north.

They pause outside the heavy wooden door, and Belomi’s dark eyes are shadowed into obscurity as he looks from Indra to Leksa.

“Stay out here,” he says, “let me talk to her first.” He doesn’t need to tell them that seeing Leksa this way was a shock, or that he’s going to prepare Klark for the obvious difference between this Leksa and the Leksa she used to know. Leksa shivers and nods. It occurs to her for the hundredth time that perhaps Klark will lose whatever interest she used to have once she sees Leksa like this - a mere shadow of her former self - but she needs the closure at least. They both do.

Belomi knocks once before ducking inside. The vaguest stirring of jealousy and irritation swirl in the bottomless pit of Leksa’s gut, because it is a reminder of how close, how intimate, Belomi and Klark are that he feels comfortable enough with simply walking into her home without an express invitation.

He’s gone for nearly ten minutes. Indra shifts restlessly beside her, and Leksa struggles to remember the words she rehearsed, the words she means to say when she finally sees her alpha for the first time since her death. But her brain roils instead over her fears, her insecurities. She pictures Klark’s complete rejection over and over again in a million different ways. She berates herself over her inability to rise over it. She mourns the loss of the Commander’s Alpha Spirit within her. She never used to be this weak… this pathetic… this afraid…

His figure looms black against the glowing orange interior and takes up nearly the entire frame of the door. He beckons Leksa inside, but shifts immediately into Indra’s way and growls a challenge at her. They are on his territory now - his and Klark’s - and Indra snarls but has no choice but to step back. Then the door shuts behind Leksa and she is alone.

There is a table. Chairs stand sentry around it. A few small bookshelves line two of the the four walls and shuttered and curtained windows line the others that box her in. A few books are scattered across the surfaces in the room. The orange glow originates from a pair of candles sputtering on the table and windowsill, and from the furnace burning and crackling at the far corner. There is a door to Leksa’s left, partly open, and movement in the shadows beyond it. Klark’s sharp, stormy scent is thick here, roiling and overwhelming, and Leksa sags into it. She fights the tears burning behind her eyes to be enveloped in its turbulent, powerful strength. She searches for the last vestiges of her own strength, her own pride, her own resilience, and clings to the scraps because they are all she has left.

The door to Leksa’s right eases open. Klark’s scent washes more heavily over her even before the alpha crests the threshold and steps inside. Leksa shrinks against the door behind her while Klark shuts her own and forces herself to meet eyes that were once a brilliant summer blue but have clouded over and turned gray.

She watches while Klark sucks in a deep breath. Her chest swells with the sheer volume of air she takes in and her eyes flutter shut. Leksa aches to know what her alpha is thinking, what she is feeling as she draws in Leksa’s muted scent and the fear and apprehension that saturate it.

Klark’s first words to her are “You’re not in heat,” and Leksa’s knees almost give out beneath her.

This is all their relationship has been for years. Since the fall of the mountain, every encounter has boiled down to hormones and lust and incredible, heart-stopping, earth-shattering sex. It’s not surprising the first thing Klark would think of Leksa’s arrival is that she needs an alpha to sate her heat. But it still hurts, still pierces Leksa’s lungs with shrapnel and guts her. She opens her mouth to speak but Klark beats her to it - “you’re hurt.”

In the sharp, staccato breath Leksa takes between that instant and the next, Klark erases the distance between them and bends to cradle Leksa against her chest. Strong arms under her knees and shoulders lift her into the air and her cane clatters uselessly to the ground. Klark’s scent is thick in her nostrils, protective and possessive and so - so incredibly calming - Leksa can’t help but relax into Klark’s embrace. She allows her alpha to carry her away, past the door Klark had just shut and into another room with a washbasin, a tub, and a bed.

“The war?” Klark asks, voice breathy and thin, as she settles Leksa gently into a slightly lumpy mattress and warm, thick blankets. Leksa nods mutely, unable to meet Klark’s eyes now, and pulls herself to sit up comfortably against the headboard.

Klark draws a bath, and heat seeps slowly into Leksa’s tired, aching body as bucket after steaming bucket is poured into the small tub in Klark’s bedroom. Aside from Klark’s hurried footsteps and the sloshing of water, there is silence between them. Leksa has not yet said a word, and she is afraid that when she tries to speak, no sound will come out. She avoids Klark’s curious gaze and rubs her fingers into her throbbing knee, though she knows the massage will hardly help. She avoids the persistent thought that Klark is preparing the bath for her, and how much more vulnerable her nudity will make her. She avoids trying to remember the words she meant to say to Klark and berates herself instead for finding so much comfort and solace in Klark’s sunny scent. She doesn’t want to face the nebulous, painful past that lingers between them.

Once the bath is drawn, Klark settles into the bed beside her, fingers reaching to help Leksa out of her clothes. Leksa flinches at the touch and stiffens, because she already feels vulnerable and weak enough without taking her clothes off. Klark’s fingers still, but settle over her thighs and don’t retreat any further than that.

“I’ve seen you naked before, Lexa,” Klark reminds her gently, “and you need a bath. I need to look at your knee, and it’ll feel better in the water.”

A long moment passes between them in which Leksa cannot meet her alpha’s eyes. She remains tense, not quite giving Klark permission to undress her, but not pushing her away either. And her tattered heart is tugged in a million different directions, because she wants Klark and loves Klark and aches to sink into the comfort and protection Klark offers; because her knee throbs and Klark is a healer and Leksa is just so tired; because she doesn’t think she can stand to be any more vulnerable in front of her alpha than she already is; because she hates herself for not having the strength she used to; because she came to Camp Jaha looking for Klark to begin with. Klark, for her part, remains silent and still, waiting for some sort of sign or signal from Leksa.

Then Leksa raises her eyes to meet Klark’s and her lungs deflate. The way Klark is looking at her… expression soft, shadowed eyes worried, mouth twisted in confusion and anxious pain. She nods once, and holds whatever breath she manages to scrape into her chest while Klark slowly, reverently, undresses her.

It’s not like any other time Klark’s undressed her before. Her rough fingertips are gentle, caressing over dirt-stained and scarred skin as she peels off Leksa’s jacket and shirt. Her fingers hover over the bright, angry pink scars, lips pursed with worry. She eases Leksa’s pants and underwear off together, cradles Leksa’s hips in one arm while she slides the travel-worn clothes out from under her, and when Leksa is bare and naked and can’t look at either herself or Klark anymore, her alpha lifts her carefully in her arms, like she is fragile, like she might break, and carries her to the bath. Leksa hisses as the hot water envelops her slowly, and relaxes into the soothing heat.

 

 

* * *

 

  

Clarke is not sure if she is relieved or disappointed to realize that Lexa is not in heat, not even close. She knows she’s already missed one of Lexa’s heats in the past year since the clans went to war against the Ice Nation, and wondering whether Lexa has found another alpha to sate it, worrying if Lexa had to go through it alone, has been tearing her apart.

It had shattered her to leave Lexa behind in Polis over two years ago. But Clarke doesn’t think her heart can handle being loved only half-way again. She doesn’t think she can survive knowing that Lexa can only offer half of herself, knowing that she’ll always come second to the truly most important people in Lexa’s life: the grounders. She can’t handle Finn all over again.

But now… something is different. Something has changed. Clarke can feel it in the way Lexa refuses to meet her eyes. She can taste it in her omega’s scent - softer and subtler than it had ever been before. There is less alpha to her now, less aggression and assertion, less power. She’s afraid to ask, afraid to find out what happened. The stories Lexa’s scars tell are horrifying answer enough.

It bothers her. It nags at the edges of Clarke’s conscious thought as she lowers her omega into the water and brushes her tangled hair back from Lexa’s face. Her cheeks are too pale, and her wild curls are not tamed into their usual braids. And Bellamy’s warning before letting Lexa in worried Clarke more than it calmed her, and had hardly prepared her for the mess Lexa had become.

For a little while, Clarke scrubs along Lexa’s shoulders in silence. Her fingers and thumbs rub at the tension running live and heavy under Lexa’s skin. She aches to run her hand over the pink scar stretching down Lexa’s face, to smooth away the pain and the fear she sees etched in Lexa’s features, but she hasn’t the right and she knows that. Instead, she picks up her rough sponge and gently washes away the layers of travel dirt staining Lexa’s skin and works her way carefully down to Lexa’s knee. She avoids touching anything too intimate - scrubs down Lexa’s back to keep herself from touching Lexa’s still beautiful breasts and skips over her hips entirely to go straight to the lower half of Lexa’s leg. Because seeing Lexa like this, naked and vulnerable and scared, makes her feel naked and vulnerable and scared too.

Despite everything, Lexa is still her heart. And Clarke’s heart is bare and broken, scarred and crippled and struggling against itself. And Clarke is only barely surviving.

“What happened?”

It comes out a whisper, cracked and rough in the orange glow of the single lamp lighting her bedroom. Lexa starts, tenses, and doesn’t meet her eyes. Clarke isn’t sure what she’s asking, but as she touches the malformed lump of Lexa’s shattered knee she figures she might as well start there. “To your knee,” Clarke clarifies in a slightly stronger voice, “what happened to your knee?”

There is a pause. Clarke kneads her fingers into the muscle around the scarred and damaged limb, searching for answers and trying to ease the stiffness in it both at once. She’s afraid of what Lexa might say, because the old wounds littered across Lexa’s body tell her a story she doesn’t want to hear, is afraid to hear. When Lexa’s answer comes, her voice is faded and a little weak. Her words slur slightly, and Clarke can hear how exhausted Lexa is.

“Don’t remember,” Lexa murmurs, “happened before I died, I think.”

Clarke freezes. Her heart stops cold in her chest. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel beyond the words ‘I died’ as they resound in her head, ricochet through her skull, tear her apart from the inside out. Everything centers around that statement, around that single truth, and it’s a tunnel that Clarke can’t see out of.

“What?” Clarke rasps, and she’s straining toward the pinprick of light at the end of this narrow, closing gap, reaching to find the end where Lexa is here, warm and alive and real.

Stiff fingers close over her own, and Clarke realizes she’s trembling.

“I died, Klark,” Lexa repeats, and it drives frozen knives down Clarke’s spine, makes her shudder until she’s weak and has to slump against the side of the tub to keep from crumpling to the ground. “For ten minutes,” Lexa continues, “Indra was the one to bring me back.”

It feels like ten minutes that Clarke is struggling to breathe again. Numbness steals over her, the world retreats behind a curtain of cold and black and the words ‘I died’, and Clarke is oblivious to everything but the fingers still wrapped around her own and the hard, painful squeeze of her empty lungs in her chest. Her world narrows to Lexa’s admission and only the reminder of Lexa’s skin under her nails, Lexa’s hand trapping hers, Lexa’s breath against her cheek, brings her back and gives her the strength and the courage to draw air and breathe again. She feels dizzy, dazed, unreal, and she forgets that she still hasn’t and still can’t forgive Lexa for abandoning her because it’s suddenly far more important for Clarke to realize that Lexa’s death could very well bring about her own.

Finally, Clarke forces herself to meet Lexa’s gaze. Her omega’s green eyes are dull and hollow, empty, and Clarke flinches at the death inside them. She realizes she’s been digging her nails into Lexa’s already wounded knee and forces her fingers to relax and let go. She’s still struggling to breathe past the vise stilling her heart, past the panic and the fear and the pain flooding her veins, past a regret that somehow weighs more than all the souls she left behind in Mount Weather. She should feel guilty for that, but she is too far removed, because Lexa _died_ and Clarke still can’t bring herself to focus on anything else.

She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to react. She doesn’t know how to translate into words the roil of emotion tossing her insides and pulverizing her bones to dust. She clings to Lexa’s shattered knee, opens and closes her mouth in the hope that something will come out if she just keeps trying to speak, and searches the shadows in Lexa’s eyes for something to hold on to, some tether, some light buried beneath the layers of age and exhaustion that might prove to her somehow that Lexa is still here, still alive.

But Lexa only closes her eyes and leans her head back. Her neck is exposed, but Clarke knows it is not in submission. Though Clarke aches to lean in, close her teeth over Lexa’s thin, fragile pulse and reassert her claim over Lexa, to take her omega back from Death, she doesn’t. Instead, she forces herself to focus on the heat of Lexa’s skin beneath her fingers, on the slight flutter of Lexa’s pulse as her heart beats oxygen through every muscle, on the slide of Lexa’s fingers as they fall away from her own. She forces herself to focus on the muted scent of Lexa’s skin, on the scars that decorate her torn and broken body.

She still can only barely scrape air into her lungs when she finally forces herself to move. She still feels like she is moving through mud, like there is a strong, persistent resistance to the very air around her as she sits up against the tub and makes herself finish examining Lexa’s knee.

It was shattered by some blunt force, and started to heal together badly. Clarke thinks her mother might still be able to repair some of the damage through surgery. The rest she thinks may be reparable through rehab and careful treatment. It would not have been the cause of death - Clarke shudders as this thought occurs to her, and searches fearfully with skimming fingers and darting eyes all of Lexa’s scarred body. Her thumb swipes across the old scar running down Lexa’s leg, the one she earned years ago helping her people rebuild TonDC. It is pulled into the lumpy, pink-stretched skin around her knee, two parts of history forever entangled and indistinguishable from one another. She sees nicks peppered across Lexa’s arms, and a gnarl between Lexa’s lower ribs. Arrow wound, deep, and the exit wound Clarke finds on the other side is jagged like the skin and muscle had been ripped through. Numb and scattered, Clarke helps Lexa wash her hair in silence, watches Lexa fall asleep while Clarke dries her off with the best towel she has, and buries her beneath blankets in her bed once she’s completely clean and dry.

And then Clarke stares at her omega, at the woman she gave up and almost lost, blows out the flickering lantern in her room and soaks it in darkness.

She sleeps on the floor at Lexa’s feet just in case Lexa needs her at all during the night, with one hand closed over Lexa’s ankle just to remind herself that Lexa is physically here and alive. She hopes Lexa doesn’t mind, but now she can’t let go. Her heart is still wrapped in a cold, hard vise and only the slow, steady, subtle beat in the vein under her thumb, only the warmth of Lexa’s skin against her own, reminds her to stay there… breathing… surviving...

 

 

* * *

 

  

She wakes in the middle of the night, buried beneath blankets and furs that smell like comfort, like safety, like home. At first, she’s heavily disoriented. She feels too clean and too warm, and none of her surroundings look familiar. But instead of feeling afraid or confused, she only feels calm.

It’s Klark’s scent, she realizes after a few minutes. She’s enveloped in her alpha’s stormy, electric smell. What little tension had formed in her neck and shoulders slips away as her memories of the past few hours fall back into place. She remembers Klark holding her. She remembers Klark bathing her. She remembers the way Klark’s face paled, the way her fingers dug into her skin, remembers the way air broke from her mouth in a tsunami and the glitter of her eyes in the lamplight as she crumbled into ruin. There’s a light pressure around Leksa’s ankle that she suddenly realizes is Klark’s hand, still wrapped around it, still clinging to the reminder that Leksa is here and alive.

Warmth floods Leksa’s insides. Her chest constricts, but the force wrapped around her heart and squeezing the breath from her lungs is not painful. The backs of her eyes burn and her chin trembles, because there is a strange, powerful kind of hope swelling in the back of her throat and it makes her want to weep, to crumple, to break.

She pulls her ankle out of Klark’s grip, and stifles a sob into the pillow under her head when Klark immediately wakes up.

“Lexa?”

Her voice is cracked and heavy, a little slurred with exhaustion. Movement stirs the air at the foot of the bed, and Leksa forces herself to suck in a lungful of air as soft, muffled footsteps approach her, and a weight sinks into the heavy blankets beside her.

She wants to be selfish. She wants to take everything Klark has to offer, wants to take everything she needs until she is strong again, even if it makes Klark weak. Especially if it makes Klark weak. Leksa tugs at the blankets under Klark and lifts them, inviting her alpha to join her beneath them.

There is a sharp intake of breath. Klark’s hesitation stings, little needles in the chill that seep in past the open blankets and sink into Leksa’s skin. But it doesn’t last long, and Leksa lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when she hears the muffled _‘thunk’_ of boots hitting the floor and feels Klark’s body slide under her arm. Familiar, safe heat replaces the cold. Leksa drops the blankets over Klark’s shoulders and fits both of her arms between their chests. She holds still while Klark shuffles to wrap both her arms around her.

She wishes Klark were as bare as she is beneath the sheets. But it’s enough that Klark is here. It’s enough that she can bury her nose into the cold hollow of Klark’s throat and breathe in her scent. It’s enough that Klark’s arms around her tighten, and that the stiff chill in Klark’s clothes melts into a deep, sleepy warmth as Leksa slowly…

drifts…

away…

 

 

Over the course of the next few days, Leksa’s fears fade into a distant memory. Klark loves her, even if she never says the words. It’s not just in the way Klark holds her at night. It’s not just in the way Klark looks at her, watching carefully as if afraid she might crumble into dust and slip away into the wind. It’s not just in the way Klark touches her, like she’s porcelain, like she might break, and it’s not just in the way Klark waits patiently, silently, endlessly, for Leksa to make her own decisions about anything and everything, as if she knows there is strength inside her that just needs time to come out.

It’s not in any single small thing that Leksa can see Klark loves her. But it’s in every small thing Klark does that Leksa feels it. Even Indra is comfortable enough to leave Camp Jaha for Tondisi after her surgery, which is saying something because Indra had not left her side before they arrived in Camp Jaha and had lingered close since.

And the surgery…

Leksa sighs from where she’s stretched across Klark’s bed in Klark’s cabin. Her knee throbs, but with a different kind of pain - a transient kind of pain. Her entire leg is immobilized, held in a steel brace that keeps it perfectly still, bandaged to hide the metal screws driving past flesh into bone. Abi had not hesitated to assess the damage and offer the surgery, and Klark had insisted it would help Leksa heal faster, heal better, mitigate the pain in the long run so that she might be able to walk normally again. They had explained it all to her in great detail, but Leksa is battle and war-minded, and not much of it had made sense to her. Not much of it had stuck, except that she would be immobilized in bed for a few weeks before she’d be allowed to walk at all again. If it hadn’t been for the promise of being able to walk normally, without pain, after the healing was done, she would have refused.

“I made tea,” Klark’s voice is hesitant. Leksa looks up to find her standing in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand. There’s a timidity in her clear blue eyes that Leksa is still surprised to find there, and her steps as she approaches the bed are tempered with a frightened kind of caution Leksa doesn’t think she’s ever seen in Klark before. It’s new, but Leksa relishes the notion that she makes Klark feel as weak as Klark made her.

Leksa pats the space on the bed beside her and watches as Klark shuffles over and carefully sits down. Warmth billows under Leksa’s jaw, across her chin and flares over her cheeks as Klark passes a mug to her. The fresh, floral scent of chamomile cuts the heavier, comforting scent of alpha, but Klark is pressed against her side and the heat of her skin seeps into Leksa’s borrowed clothes and it’s enough. “Thank you,” Leksa murmurs quietly, and folds her hands around her mug. She relaxes into Klark’s palm over her thigh. She is content, even trapped in bed like this. She is weary of being strong, and it is a relief to allow herself a little weakness now. It is a relief to know that she is safe regardless.

“I hate that you abandoned me.”

The cracked whisper is so unexpected, Leksa’s neck pops as she whips her head around to look at Klark. Blond hair obscures most of her face. Her chin is tilted downward, her eyes are cast to the ground, but her expression is raw, and she is split so wide open Leksa thinks if she looks hard enough, she’ll be able to see her alpha’s pain running angry and red and swollen all through her. And it hurts, because Leksa thinks it is a scar that might never heal over. That it might always occupy the spaces between them, hard and hot and too sensitive to touch.

Her fingers are trembling when she reaches up to tuck Klark’s thick hair behind her ear. It is easier to see the hurt on Klark’s face. It is easier to see the vulnerability that Klark has, until now, tried so hard to hide.

“Me too,” Leksa admits, finally. The words lift a weight from her shoulders, and the way Klark’s eyes flutter shut, the way her lashes darken with tears, loosens something hard and cutting from her chest. Klark’s fingers over her thigh tighten, her knuckles turn white with the strength of her grip, and Leksa realizes that Klark is holding onto her like she is her weapon, her shield, her salvation.

“I know.” Klark turns to look at her, mouth stretched tight against the pain and the fear burning cold in the sharp, molten blue of her eyes. Her voice is cracked and split open, and Leksa has to strain to understand her alpha’s shamed confession, “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

“I never asked for your forgiveness, Klark,” her reply is sharper than she intended, but it lances the festering wound they share, and Klark’s tears spill over. Leksa flattens her hand over Klark’s cheek and sighs at the weight of Klark’s face pressing into her palm. “It’s not what I need,” Leksa clarifies then, and runs her thumb through the wetness streaking across Klark’s skin.

“I know,” Klark says again, voice rough and raspy with years’ worth of bottled-up emotion. She turns away, and Leksa is afraid that this is the end of it, the end of the conversation, the end of everything, but Klark only sets her mug down on the floor beside the bed and turns again, turns into her. She settles her head on Leksa’s belly and there are waterfalls of gold under Leksa’s fingers, warm and silky-smooth. Hot salt stings Leksa’s skin where Klark’s tears fall, evidence that they exist, though Leksa can’t see them. When Klark speaks again, the words burrow into Leksa’s heart and take root. “I didn’t want to leave you either.”

It’s a struggle to breathe. But the weight of Klark’s head on her stomach and the honesty in Klark’s thin, broken voice give her the strength she needs. Leksa brushes Klark’s hair from her face, runs liquid sunlight through her fingers and drops her head back. Her eyes flutter shut, heat rims her eyelids, and that something in her chest, hard and cutting, breaks away like sediment in a current. “I know,” she sighs, just as Klark’s arm scrapes over her stomach and tightens around her, holding on like she will never let go.

And she heals. Slowly. Mind, body, heart, and soul. It is weeks before she’s allowed to move from her bed, and then she’s given a brace and another cane to last a few months at least, and physical therapy sessions to rebuild lost muscle and to regain flexibility and movement. Abi says it will be months before the pain really starts to ebb, and that she can’t guarantee it will ever be completely gone, particularly in the cold winter, but the possibility that she may one day walk normally on her leg is hope enough.

And though it’s been nearly two years since her last heat, Leksa still is not ready when it finally hits again.


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes in the middle of the night, arms tight around her omega, face buried in bushy brown hair that tickles her nose so she thinks she might sneeze. Lexa’s body is warm pressed against her, smooth back mottled with scars bare where her shirt has ridden up and a little slick with the slightest film of sweat. It’s warm, winter is over and spring is quite determinedly here, but it’s not hot enough to account for the feverish heat of Lexa’s body or the perspiration that has Clarke’s own shirt sticking to Lexa’s skin.

Lexa’s scent is thick in her nose. Musky, rich, earthy. Clarke knows instinctively that Lexa is entering her heat, though the smell is vastly different than it used to be. It’s more muted now, sweeter, but in a way that makes Clarke’s belly clench with unease. Lexa’s body is tense, arms and shoulders flexed and clenched, legs curled up and inward in a fetal position. She’s trembling, and whimpers softly in her sleep.

It makes sense, considering the trauma Lexa’s been through. It makes sense, considering how her heartbreak and death have ripped her into shreds that are still only beginning to heal. Lexa is not the same omega now whose heats Clarke has shared and sated. She’s not the same person. It might take years before Lexa grows back into the woman she used to be, and even then, she will still be different.

Clarke trails the tips of her fingers along Lexa’s arm, afraid to wake her and afraid to let her sleep at once. She’s not sure if her proximity will still be welcome after Lexa wakes. She’s not sure she can stand it if Lexa asks her to leave.

A broken whine bursts from Lexa’s lips, and she grinds back into Clarke’s hips. Heat floods Clarke’s belly, need cinches her gut, all the air in Clarke’s lungs explode from her mouth as she feels a pull between her legs, an answering arousal that is as much instinct as the affection she feels for the woman in her arms. Clarke buries her face into the nape of Lexa’s neck, into thick curly hair that tickles and scratches at her cheeks and smells like the morning dew along the bark of a fallen tree. Her arms around Lexa tighten and her heart lurches when Lexa wakes with her name rolling on her tongue.

Maybe it was a bad idea for them to continue sharing a bed. It was almost definitely a bad idea for them to continue sharing a bed, particularly because they’re not mated, they’re not lovers, and Clarke knows Lexa will need a lot more time before they can ever be more than friends. But the mere thought of not holding Lexa through the night, particularly now that her mortality has become so real, makes Clarke feel physically sick. And she will never make Lexa ask more than once for her to be there again.

Lexa’s body uncoils, but it’s still tight, and she turns jerkily in the circle of Clarke’s arms. Every move she makes fills Clarke with equal parts dread and thrilling excitement. Clarke opens her legs to accept her omega’s heavily wrapped knee between them and lifts her chin to hold Lexa’s face in the hollow of her throat. Lexa’s breath is hot, rapid, irregular, as it floods the space between her mouth and Clarke’s skin. A slow shudder crawls down Clarke’s spine, her arousal indistinguishable from her heartache.

Hot hands scrape against Clarke’s ribs under her shirt. Lexa’s breath turns damp, her mouth fastens over Clarke’s collarbone, and Clarke can’t hold in the heavy moan these desperate touches coax from her chest. She tightens her arms around Lexa, because she needs to hold her omega close. The feeling that she’s too far away, that there’s too much space between them, becomes suffocating. It’s in the air hanging between them, in the taste of Lexa’s skin, in the sweat dewing over her shoulder under Clarke’s lips. It’s Lexa’s heat, stifling and heavy and _agonizing_ in its intensity. She feels an overwhelming need to draw Lexa in, to pull her close, to fuse them together and make them a single whole, to hold Lexa under her skin and between her lungs and inside her madly galloping heart.

“Klark,” the way Lexa sobs her name cracks Clarke open. She’s already holding Lexa so tightly she can feel her omega’s ribs shift under her arms, and Lexa is probably breathless because her lungs are too constricted the way they’re crushed into Clarke’s chest.

Clarke burrows her nose into Lexa’s ear, lips at her earlobe and breathes heavily along the shell. She feels Lexa’s breath hitch. “I’m here,” Clarke pants, because her own lungs are flattened in her suddenly desperate attempt to crush her whole body into Lexa’s, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Lexa is trembling. The shiver of her skin pressed against Clarke’s starts an earthquake in Clarke’s soul, and somehow, Lexa’s heat is becoming her own. Clarke feels the ache, the need, the _emptiness_ , yawning in the slivers of spaces between their bodies and wraps both her legs around Lexa to pull her still closer. Lexa’s cheek flattens over Clarke’s shoulder, her hot, heavy breath flares erratically across Clarke’s throat.

“Take off your clothes,” Lexa whimpers, fingers scrambling to eviscerate the layers between them, “please, Klark, I need to feel you.”

The despair and fear in Lexa’s voice drops a hole in Clarke’s gut, and it feels like she’s plummeting right through it.

“You’re in heat, Lexa,” Clarke explains, voice shrill and thin because she wants to be bare for and with her omega, but she’s afraid that instead of soothing Lexa, it will only complicate their still raw and tentative relationship. A whine explodes from Lexa’s throat that catches the strings of Clarke’s heart and pulls so hard she chokes on them. Hot tears soak into Clarke’s collarbone. It’s hard to hold Lexa close and shimmy out of her shorts, hard to keep her arms circled around Lexa while she wiggles out of her top, but it’s impossible to ignore that Lexa needs this. It’s impossible to care about the consequences of their actions now, when caring about the consequences of their actions before have brought them here.

The thick, heavy air around them is only broken by the sounds of straining, tearing fabric and uneven panting for a little while. Clarke’s lungs are playing hot potato with her heart while she juggles clothes and sheets and Lexa in her hands and arms, but when they’re both finally naked under the blanket, legs and arms tangled so tightly, chests and hips slotted together, faces buried in each other’s hair and throats and shoulders, a small sense of relief bleeds into Clarke’s frazzled nerves. It’s small, because there is no hiding the erection pressed between their bodies and no denying the dizzying smell of their arousal from each other.

For a few minutes, Lexa seems content simply burying herself in Clarke’s body. She’s still trembling, still burrowing into Clarke’s chest, still soaking Clarke’s skin in hot wet salt, but it’s not as violent as before.

“I’m here, Lexa,” Clarke whispers shakily into Lexa’s hair again, and scrapes her teeth along the back of Lexa’s throat reassuringly, “I’m not letting go.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not enough. Klark’s arms around her, Klark’s scent, thick and saturating, Klark’s bare skin folded over hers, it’s overwhelming, it’s devastating, it’s _staggering_ , but it’s not enough. There’s a cold hollow inside her, haunted by the ghosts of _could have been_ , _would have been_ , _ought to be_ , and a raw, primal need to replace it with _is_ has become too overpowering to ignore.

It’s hard to breathe with Klark’s arms crushing them together. There is only a sliver of space between Leksa’s nose and Klark’s throat, only enough to drag in the very minimum amount of air Leksa needs to stay conscious, and still, it’s _too much space_. She knows her skin is hot, feverish, but she feels so cold. There is a tundra in her very core, and it feels like Klark is the only sun that can warm it and bring life to it again. Leksa tangles her fingers in Klark’s hair, tugs her closer, grinds her hips into Klark’s and winds their legs tighter together. Klark’s hard cock between them pulses heat, wet and warm against Leksa’s belly and she needs it between her thighs, buried inside her, spilling molten life into the frozen wasteland she carries in her soul.

“Klark,” her tongue is tangled into knots, and that is all she finds she can say. Klark is humming something mournful into the back of her neck, and doesn’t fight it when Leksa pulls her alpha on top. It hurts to push Klark away, even to reach down and fold her hand around Klark’s erection, but it’s worth it when she tilts her hips to angle the swollen head against her entrance and the warm, wet heat of Klark’s precum pulses into her. Leksa swallows the soft, cracked moan that spills from Klark’s mouth.

“Lexa, you’re in heat,” Klark says again in a voice cracked and parched and unsteady, as if Leksa doesn’t already know. It’s irritating, because Leksa doesn’t want Klark to argue with her, she just wants Klark inside her. Klark shifts her hips away, and Leksa can see in the deep lines across her alpha’s face how hard it is for her, but she does it anyway. Leksa’s whimper brings Klark’s hands to her face, their foreheads pressed together, and Klark’s warm breath dancing across her cheeks. “I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

It hurts. The ache in her belly intensifies with every inch of space Klark puts between them, and Klark’s words sting even though Leksa knows they come from a place of concern. But Leksa is too far beyond words to argue, all she can whine out is Klark’s name. She lifts her hips to meet Klark’s again, her breath stutters as slippery heat bursts across her abdomen. It’s not lust, it’s not an instinct to mate, she just needs that heat to warm her insides. She just needs to lose herself in Klark, and for Klark to lose herself in her.

In the darkness, she can only see the glitter of Klark’s pale eyes. Sparkles dance at the edges and trip down her cheeks. They’re both crying and from the war waging itself on Klark’s lips, Leksa thinks this might be almost as painful for her alpha as it is for her.

“Klark,” the air in her lungs jogs a lump into the middle of her throat, and holds any other words Leksa tries to speak hostage. She digs her fingers into Klark’s shoulder blades, raises her hips again, tangles her working leg with Klark’s as tight as she can to keep her alpha as close as possible. Klark’s cock is throbbing between them and Leksa is so, _so_ empty. Because her words fail her, because every inward drag of air is a monumental effort, Leksa closes the distance between their mouths and bruises a kiss to Klark’s lips. Klark’s mouth opens, her bottom lip catches between Leksa’s teeth and Leksa bites hard enough to taste copper on her tongue. A whimper tumbles out of Klark and into Leksa, bringing with it a breath of air to fill Leksa’s lungs just a little bit. Their hips slot together, their mouths seal, and as Klark breathes into Leksa, she tilts her hips to find Leksa’s slick entrance with the head of her cock.

Wet heat streaks across Leksa’s clit, and the broken whine it drags from Leksa’s lungs forces another breath out. Klark swallows it, and exhales fresh air into Leksa’s mouth again as the flared head lodges itself in the tight muscle ringing Leksa’s cunt. The hollowness is unbearable, but Leksa opens her legs wider, slides her hand down her lover’s back and palms the curve of her ass and _pushes_.

The stretch and burn of the first inch squeezing inside breaks their mouths apart as they both exhale heavily. It’s exquisite, feeling Klark’s length just inside. It eases the ache in Leksa’s chest enough to free her words and give her room to breathe.

“Lexa.”

She feels her name against her lips, feels Klark’s fingers wind in her hair, feels the tension lining every muscle of Klark’s body pressed over hers. Their tears are mixing on Leksa’s cheeks. It’s not enough, but it’s getting there.

“Please, Klark,” Leksa chokes, “I need you.”

For a moment, Klark is still. She holds herself up on her elbows and stares down at Leksa, body tense and rigid. The expression in her eyes is contrastingly wild, turbulent, a storm of feeling that floods past the rim and drips heavily down Klark’s cheeks onto Leksa’s. Leksa holds still for her, though her stomach is writhing and the cold emptiness deepens and the impulse to squirm and wiggle and pull all of Klark inside is overwhelming. She holds her breath, afraid that Klark will not understand, afraid she’ll pull away out of the misguided belief that doing so is best for her.

But instead, Klark closes the distance between their lips, touches the barest kiss to Leksa’s mouth, and melts into her. Klark’s weight anchors her, Klark’s lungs breathe for her, Klark’s heart beats into her chest and Leksa feels like she’s on life support and it’s a relief to give herself over so completely to someone else. It’s a relief to put her life into someone else’s hands, instead of taking the lives of others into her own. Their mouths form a seal, their lips do not break apart again. Klark’s arms wrap around her, her fingers drive into Leksa’s hair, fingertips massaging her scalp, and slowly, slowly, Klark pours into her.

With every gradual inch that stretches her open and fills her up, the empty ache slowly ebbs away. By the time Klark’s cock has ridden half-way inside her cunt, Leksa finds she has the strength and the breath to moan into Klark’s mouth and a soothing, living warmth has lit her up. She tightens her good leg around both of Klark’s, cants her hips upward to take in more, scrapes her blunt nails up Klark’s back and buries them deep in the warm, thick tangle of Klark’s hair. Wet heat floods the creases between her thighs, another inch of Klark’s hard, throbbing length skids inside and her stomach is twisting again.

It’s almost enough. Their teeth click together now, Leksa’s nose is pressed hard into Klark’s cheek, and as she breathes in she can taste the galaxy in Klark’s scent. Their hearts beat into each other’s chests and Klark’s pulse jumps between her legs. Leksa clenches, greedy for more and it pulls a low, guttural, animal groan that jumps from Klark’s throat straight to her clit. Sudden, wild heat floods Leksa’s veins, skitters across her skin, and a final, powerful pump of Klark’s hips carries her in to the hilt.

It’s the click of another puzzle piece falling into place. It’s the relief and satisfaction of stepping into a warm house out of the bitter winter’s cold. It’s the subtle, soft ‘ _oh_ ’ of the first kiss they ever shared in Leksa’s tent years ago, their breath escaping them in a single shared burst and that tiny moment of realization that it’s _so good_ and _it’s everything_ and they _need more_.

Klark’s knot is already swollen, hot and throbbing against her slick entrance. Klark is pumping her hips gently into Leksa’s and the press of Klark’s lips against hers is enough indication that holding back this time is not an option. They may never have mated, but Klark is still _hers_ , still _her alpha_ , and a furious wave of possession storms Leksa so suddenly she’s left feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Heat floods her, and judging by the soft mewl that breaks from Klark’s lips against hers, Klark feels it too.

“Mine,” Leksa hisses between their teeth, and tastes salt on her tongue as she tears her mouth from Klark’s to bury her face in the crook of her alpha’s neck. Klark shudders over her, need throbs between Leksa’s thighs and suddenly she’s close, so close, and it is _imperative_ she takes Klark’s knot and ties them together. Her hands scrape down Klark’s back to cup her ass again and the first hard tug Leksa gives drives a sweet, heavy pressure rippling from her cunt outward. Bliss echoes back down, and a wave of hot slick pulses with it to coat the top of Klark’s knot.

“Lexa -,” Klark’s voice chokes, damp against her throat. Need pulls Leksa’s knees open wider and Klark is straining, though whether she’s straining to be gentle in pushing her knot inside or to pull away, Leksa can’t be certain. A very small part of Leksa doesn’t care. Klark is _hers_ , and her alpha has been spending too much time keeping them apart, and taking her knot will keep Klark where she belongs. Beside her. Always. A soft, low growl claws its way up Leksa’s throat, and Leksa emphasizes it with another sharp tug, forcing the first swell of Klark’s knot past the tight ring of muscle around her entrance. The sudden, painful stretch breaks her for a moment, it screams up Leksa’s spine, arches her back up into Klark’s warm, solid body and yanks a soft cry of pain and pleasure from Leksa’s lips.

Heat burns the corners of Leksa’s eyes.

A whine bursts from Klark’s mouth, and smooth teeth nip at the pulse in Leksa’s throat. Klark is grinding into her, and need squirms in Leksa’s gut even as a wave of relief crests over her. Release throbs against the dripping rim of her cunt, so close - _so close_ \- and every muscle in her body is alight and trembling. She aches to whisper Klark’s name, to taste the consonants on her tongue, but she’s afraid that Klark will come too soon and she has to have all of her inside first. Her nails dig half-moon marks into Klark’s ass and another sliver of Klark’s knot squeezes in. Leksa knows her inner walls must be convulsing wildly, because Klark’s cock is twitching and the way the hard muscle beats into her is driving her wild. Klark’s knot lodges half-way in, and Leksa is split so far open she thinks she might simply fall apart. It _hurts_ , but the ache is sweet and she’s so _close_.

And then Leksa tilts her hips up and Klark tilts her hips down and the last stubborn inch of Klark’s knot squeezes in - her cunt contracts - her heart stops - her breath freezes in her lungs - her whole focus is on their joined pelvises and the way Klark sucks in the air around them like it is the last breath she will ever breathe. They are on the edge of a cliff, holding on to each other as they trip toward free-fall…

“Klark -”

The first jet that slams into her back wall leaves Leksa spinning. Orgasm explodes in every inch of her body, a sweet release so intense that every shred of focus and conscious thought flees Leksa’s head. And every consecutive burst of come that fills her floods the empty spaces in her soul. Pleasure sings along her skin, a stampede breaks loose in her stomach and Leksa feels every muscle in her body come alive. Because it’s not just Klark’s come filling her, it’s Klark’s knot, stopping her up and this time not even a drop will escape and Leksa knows she has it all, can keep it all. Klark’s heart is beating beside her own, and Leksa is free to take and take and take until all of Klark is completely and utterly _hers_.

The pleasure is so intense, Leksa can’t help but writhe beneath her alpha. Her teeth ache and her gums itch, but she keeps her mouth closed over Klark’s pulse. It flutters madly under her lips, but this time it is Leksa’s choice not to bite and it is Leksa who is in control, and she’s not ready yet to give herself over to Klark so completely. Not until Klark has done the same for her first.

Her first, intense orgasm tapers into aftershocks, and Leksa is suddenly aware that Klark has bitten hard into the pillow beneath her head. Leksa shudders beneath her alpha, satisfaction and guilt warring together in her chest as Klark finally loosens her teeth over the soaked cotton and tilts her face into Leksa’s throat. Klark is tense over her, gasping for breath, and hot tears soak into Leksa’s neck and shoulder.

“Klark -,”

“It’s okay,” Klark cuts her off, voice breathy and thin and weak, “it’s okay.”

It’s not. But Leksa is grateful for the lie, and loosens her grip over Klark’s ass to run her fingertips along Klark’s spine and bury them in her hair. Klark doesn’t relax over her, but she lets loose a soft, broken sigh and tightens her hold.

 

* * *

  

They have been tied for over an hour, and still Clarke’s knot hasn’t shrunk enough to slide out of Lexa’s cunt. It’s both the longest and the shortest hour of Clarke’s life, and Clarke finds herself digging her teeth into the pillow under Lexa’s head over and over to try to ease the itch in her gums and the growing hole in her chest.

Goosebumps flush her skin, and despite the slick layer of sweat filming over her entire body, Clarke is cold. She clenches her teeth, coils every muscle in an attempt to keep from shivering, because she knows Lexa is warm and comfortable under her, and because she’s still trying to sell the lie that she’s just fine. Lexa’s teeth scrape over her pulse, and the omega presses a gentle kiss over her faint teethmarks as the heavy contractions of her most recent orgasm lighten to trembling aftershocks again. Clarke thinks this might be the last one, but Lexa clenches her cunt over her cock and Clarke knows if her omega can draw one more release out of their tie, she will.

Lexa’s scent has changed subtly over the past hour. It’s not heavy with heat, thick with need. Clarke can smell traces of herself in Lexa’s skin, and it’s a comfort to soothe the burn where Lexa’s mouth rests over her throat. As much as she hurts to be tied like this to Lexa without being allowed to bite and mate her, Clarke isn’t ready for it to end.

“Klark.”

Clarke shudders at the sound of her name on Lexa’s tongue. Pain skitters under her skin, sharp and fleeting, but no less agonizing for its brevity. Lexa has been repeating it over and over again and Clarke can’t fathom why, but she hums a response to the woman she loves anyway and curls her fingers in Lexa’s hair again. Lexa’s leg tightens over her own and Clarke feels her coming orgasm seconds before her omega’s inner walls squeeze and pump again over her length.

A heavy, mournful moan rips its way from Clarke’s chest and disintegrates into the soaked pillow between her teeth. Lexa’s cunt is so tight over her knot, and the last thinning load of come stored inside runs the length of Clarke’s cock to flood Lexa’s depths for the final time, and Clarke feels her heart drop out of her chest and into Lexa’s. It beats wildly there, its rhythm scattered and irregular. And then Lexa’s teeth scrape over Clarke’s pulse and prickling pressure bursts into pain.

Her immediate response is to turn her head and bite back, and for the briefest of moments, relief lifts Clarke’s soul and a fierce, grateful kind of joy dawns in her chest, but Lexa’s fingers in her hair tighten and yank, and Clarke is left clamping her teeth over the pillow again instead.

It’s excruciating. Clarke’s breath clumps in her throat, hard and choking, and the fierce joy disintegrates into a fierce, pounding agony instead that radiates from the bite on her throat into her chest. She can’t help but pump her hips into Lexa’s weakly, and the trickle of come still jolting sporadically from the tip of her cock intensifies into hard jets because as painful as it is for Lexa to claim her like this without allowing Clarke to claim her in return, it also feels incredibly, beautifully, blissfully _good_.

“Fuck,” she can’t help but sob into the pillow, and crane her neck harder into Lexa’s teeth. Her omega’s grip tightens and a shudder of pain-wracked pleasure, or pleasure-infused pain, breaks in an electrical storm over every inch of her skin. A low, deep growl vibrates between their chests, and Clarke gasps in shock at the way Lexa’s cunt convulses around her cock and knot, tightens, like it will take it in and keep it there long after they’ve separated. Confused arousal writhes in her belly, and the line between pleasure and pain is blurred into a fog of feeling.

“Lexa -,” she whimpers, and the way Lexa’s leg tightens over her hips and her omega’s pussy pulls at her length tears the lump in her throat out through her lips, “Yours! I’m yours!” It’s not a plea for Lexa to stop. Clarke’s hips pick up an uneven rhythm as release slices through her, hot and sharp, and presses her throat ever harder into her mate’s mouth. It hurts, but the pain is cathartic, because Clarke has been Lexa’s long before Lexa bit her, and now Clarke knows she can’t hide it even from herself. “I’m all yours,” Clarke’s oath is a rasping moan, faded and thin on her lips but soaking instantly into Lexa’s skin as Lexa’s fingers loosen from her hair enough to allow Clarke to bury her face in Lexa’s neck.

The heavy, pounding pressure at the base of Clarke’s knot lifts, but Clarke only pumps harder into the cradle of her mate’s hips and holds herself there. She’s still coming, and the shivering silk around her cock is still clenching madly around her. Clarke can feel their hearts screaming in Lexa’s chest, can feel her pulse skitter under Lexa’s tongue as it scrapes over her throat and dabs delicately over the deep wounds her teeth left behind. Clarke can’t breathe past the ache in her chest, but Lexa’s warm hands over her cold back and Lexa’s hot mouth over her stiff neck are a balm, and Clarke can sigh through Lexa’s lips instead.

“I hurt you.”

Lexa’s voice when she speaks is thick, gruff, throaty. It sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine and Clarke finally forces herself to relax in her mate’s arms. Her cock is already softening, shrinking within the heat of Lexa’s still clenching pussy, and though she thinks it can’t be comfortable for her to lie with her full weight over Lexa, she doesn’t move.

“It’s not the first time,” Clarke croaks out softly, and flinches at the scalding in her neck. There’s no acid and no accusation in her tone. And though she doesn’t want to leave the soothing warmth of Lexa’s body, Clarke lifts herself onto her elbows to look down at her omega.

Lexa’s eyes are guarded, dark in the deep, impenetrable shadows of their room. But Clarke knows how to read her mate’s every expression by now, and the tense line of her eyebrows screams concern. There’s no regret though, and despite the hollow ache of Clarke’s soul, it pulls a small, sad smile across her lips. Lexa stares, and Clarke brushes the backs of her fingers across Lexa’s high cheekbones affectionately, reassuringly. “I’m not angry anymore,” Clarke continues, past her dry mouth and the sandpaper in her throat, “I haven’t been for a long time.”

For a long time, Lexa continues to stare, until Clarke leans down and brushes a soft, shy kiss to her mate’s lips and presses their foreheads together. This close, Clarke can draw in the air Lexa exhales, and every breath Lexa takes draws the air right back out so that Clarke can breathe normally. And after another long time, Clarke gathers the wits and the fortitude to whisper again “But love is weakness, isn’t it?”

Gentle fingers touch Clarke’s cheeks and gently push her face away. When Clarke allows her eyes to fall open to stare back down at the woman she loves, she finds that the light of the dawn creeping through her window has caught the flecks of gold in Lexa’s inky green eyes and they _glow_.

“No, Klark,” Lexa’s breath, hot and a little stale now, washes over Clarke’s face and Clarke drinks it in like it’s the best wine she’s ever tasted. “This is not weakness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all wonderful.
> 
> And for those of you thinking it - yes, this is something like what some of Lexa's heats were between her death and her reunion with Clarke, except without Clarke to help her through it. 
> 
> New chapter should be up the day after tomorrow. I decided to add in an extra scene and it's almost finished.  
> I am planning a separate story with more Indra since her part in this story is over, and it seems I underestimated her popularity in my fics. I hope you all enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

It doesn’t take long after Leksa’s bite and their last intense orgasm for Klark’s cock to soften and slip out. But Klark only shifts a little to the side to allow them both to breathe, and buries her face in Leksa’s shoulder. Her breath flares warm and even across Leksa’s throat, and her arm and leg stay slung across Leksa’s body, a comforting weight that keeps Leksa feeling grounded and present.

For what may be perhaps the first time in her life, Leksa feels drunk on life. The taste of Klark’s blood and scent lingers on the tips of her teeth and a fabulous kind of strength and vitality is rushing through her veins. Every inch of her skin feels like it’s humming, and nothing hurts. There’s a lump in her throat that feels full, and a warmth sitting in her chest, and Leksa thinks she finally knows what real, uninhibited happiness feels like.

Klark’s scent has changed too, and Leksa sucks in lungfuls of it to savor her own scent embedded in her alpha’s. Klark doesn’t smell like sky and ozone and sunshine anymore. Now, she smells like sun-drenched trees and the first rain. She smells like the forest in the fall. She smells like home. And she thinks she can feel Klark’s heart nestled inside her chest, beside her own, wounded and broken but hers to nurture and protect and heal. A personal kind of pride swells in Leksa’s stomach, and she turns her head to look at the woman she loves. Klark’s eyes are closed, and her sunflower hair clings damp to her skin. Leksa brushes a soft kiss to her alpha’s forehead and smiles a little. _Klark is hers_.

They linger in bed together for a while, silent and still. Leksa knows Klark is not sleeping, but she lets her pretend, because after being claimed and mated like that she knows Klark needs time and space to process. She runs her fingers through Klark’s stringy, sweaty hair and holds her, because she knows Klark needs the reassurance after the way Leksa rejected her bite.

 

 

Over the months that follow, Leksa finds that it is Klark’s tattered and damaged heart that provides her with the strength she needs to pick up the pieces of herself she thought she’d lost years ago: dropped along the edges of a dying mountain, scattered between Tondisi and Polis every time she and Klark came together, shattered in the snow where her battle with the Azkwin killed her. And she finds that the alpha she thought she’d lost with the Commander’s Spirit is still there, and it is Klark’s tattered and damaged heart that begins to slowly pull it out of her.

This takes her by surprise at first, and the reemergence of her alpha side is so gradual, she thinks for a long time that it is simply a fluke.

When her rehab starts only a few weeks after her brief, intense heat, she finds herself growling threateningly at Abi for pushing her too hard.

When Reiven makes a pointed, barbed comment about the way she claimed Klark, it is Leksa that comes to both their defense, the little hairs on the back of her neck bristling in a way that sends chills down her back later, because Klark tells her how it reminds her of the way she used to be.

When she finds herself bored of doing nothing all day, finds herself itching to work, to train, to be of use, she growls irritably at Klark for days until they come to the decision to build her a forge and give her work to do.

Her snarls at Octeivia on the training ground make the beta flinch and goad her into a sparring match. Linkon begins to defer to her first and foremost during their hunts. She is invited to meetings with the Council, and her opinion on matters, particularly between the Skaikru and the Trikru, is valued and sought out, and at the end of nearly a year, Leksa is surprised to find herself in a position of shared leadership with Klark, Belomi, Kein and Abi. She is _Heda_ again, for a new people, and this time, her heart is not a sacrifice they will ever ask of her.

But Klark withers a little. She’s too strong to show it in public, and Leksa watches her carefully whenever they are not alone. She still asserts her authority, still boldly claims confidence, still shows a mask of assurance that Leksa knows she doesn’t always feel. Her summer sky eyes are overcast though, and she smiles less readily. And when they are alone…

It’s not the presence of the half-moon scars on Klark’s neck that is the root of these changes. It is the absence of those same scars on Leksa’s. They share a bed, but they do not share intimacy, and it is Leksa that wraps herself around Klark at night and Leksa that wipes away Klark's tears when she cries. It is Leksa that has the upper hand now in this relationship and it is strange and new and a little disconcerting. She hadn’t known what the consequences of their one-sided mating would be, but she’d known that they wouldn’t be good. And still the only regret Leksa feels is the uncertainty in Klark’s tremulous, trembling smile when they’re alone.

It is summer again when Leksa feels a familiar prickle on the back of her neck, and a stifling heat shifting just under her skin.

Mona, the new Heda, still only eleven summers, has come to negotiate a new treaty, a stronger alliance, one that brings the Skaikru wholly under her banner. Everyone is uneasy, not because they don’t trust the Coalition or the new Commander, but because the new terms demand a single clan leader be chosen and for her people to adopt a culture that is not yet, and may never fully be, their own. The new terms demand that children become seconds to warriors as well as blacksmiths and healers and farmers and her people are not prepared to sacrifice their pup’s childhoods when the life that affords them has only recently been realized.

Her people.

Leksa is under no illusion when she walks into the Council chamber of who her people are. She takes her place between Klark and Belomi, expression still and blank and stoic as it ever was when she had been Heda of the Coalition. Kein and Abi are also already there, and Mona and her regent arrive not long after, so it is not long before they begin.

“The betrayal happened a long time ago, Chancellor,” Boris, Mona’s regent, says in a gruff, frustrated voice, “and the new terms of this alliance will make any similar betrayal an impossibility. Your people will be Heda’s.”

Leksa clenches her teeth, and Abi’s eyes flash dangerously.

“That isn’t the point,” Kein speaks up, arms stretching to settle over the table, “and it’s not our concern.”

“There isn’t a need to renegotiate terms,” Abi continues for him, and Leksa is keenly aware of Klark shifting restlessly beside her, “because the terms we have now are fine.”

“With all due respect, Chancellor, they’re not.”

Mona’s voice is soft, low, but steady. She arrests the room’s attention immediately, and Leksa watches in fascination. Mona has presented as an omega, and Mona is a reincarnation of her old spirit. It is intriguing to observe the Heda with this in mind. It is like she has tripped back in time and is watching herself.

“I will be frank, as it seems my regent is incapable despite the obvious necessity,” Mona says dryly, and her dark eyes flicker between Boris and the Council ranged around them, “it makes the clan leaders uncomfortable to invite you to our table and our meetings with the old Commander as one of your Council.”

Klark stiffens, and Leksa feels a stir in her gut - something like anger and offense. Mona looks at her, and though her eyes are guarded, there is a slight curl shadowing the corner of her lips like they are in on a joke together that no one else can understand. Perhaps they are, because Mona does not look away and every word she speaks from then on Leksa knows are spoken to her.

“She grows strong among you, and has great influence. According to the beliefs of our people, a Heda without the Commander’s Spirit cannot be so, cannot even continue to survive. She should be dead, and yet she lives and thrives.”

Leksa feels a muscle jump in her jaw. The prickling pressure on the back of her neck grows, because the electric scent of summer storms is flooding the room and she knows Klark beside her is instinctively pumping out protective alpha pheromones.

“It makes her a potential threat -,”

Klark’s growl raises goosebumps along Leksa’s arms and she knows she shouldn’t but she preens because to be considered a threat is a backwards compliment and Klark’s growl is doubling the heat rising in her belly.

“- one that is significantly lessened if you were to choose a clan leader and fall under the Coalition’s banner completely.”

“No.”

Leksa’s voice rings through the room, as strong as it used to be when she was still in Mona’s shoes. Mona doesn’t flinch, just stares at her expectantly, and Leksa finds herself somehow proud of the girl for the stoicism in her gaze.

“The peace treaty between our people must suffice, Commander,” Leksa continues, and that flicker of a frown flashes across Mona’s lips, “and I will not step down from the Council simply to assuage the Coalition’s insecurities. Or _yours_.”

It’s astonishing that the Grounders still see Leksa as one of theirs. It is more astonishing that they seem to expect Leksa to continue to sacrifice for them, despite the fact that she is no longer Heda. It is also, however, incredibly gratifying that despite no longer being their Commander, they still see her as powerful enough to pose a threat, and it is incredibly distracting the way Klark shifts uncomfortably beside her because a swell is growing at the apex of her thighs. Leksa’s skin burns. She knows her heat is starting, and the smell of Klark’s scent, of Leksa’s scent embedded within it, is not helping.

“And who do you consider to be _your people_ now, Leksa?” Boris growls. The hackles along Leksa’s neck rise and from the corner of her eyes she can see Klark’s lips curl into an angry snarl. “Is it the people you have lived and died for, or the people who would not come to the aid of the Coalition in the midst of a bloody civil war?”

“Boris!” Mona’s snap cracks the tension hanging in the air, and Boris sits back in his seat, expression stiff. Leksa holds his eyes, and a small smile curls on the corners of her mouth.

“She is one of ours, now, Commander,” Klark says from beside Leksa, voice a little raspier and throatier than usual, “and her experience _and_ understanding of both our cultures has earned her a right to sit at this table.”

Though hearing the words fall from Klark’s lips shouldn’t be a surprise, Leksa can’t help but turn her head sharply to look at her alpha. Klark is tense, both hands fisted on the table and her chin low in an assertion of her status.

Mona dips her chin in acknowledgment and Leksa thinks she sees where this is going.

“That is not what is in contention here,” Mona replies, voice soft in an attempt to keep these discussions civil, “the goal is merely to preserve a comfortable, secure, and lasting peace between our people. As our alliance stands, Leksa’s presence at the table raises questions with ambiguous answers, and this is what concerns the Coalition.” Mona pauses for a moment, and her dark eyes flicker from Leksa’s to each of the other Council members at the table. “And despite Boris’s vehemence on the topic, there are other concerns surrounding the terms of our alliance that must be renegotiated.”

Boris scowls, and Leksa can smell his alpha pheromones, steely and cold, electrify the air between them. All of the alphas in the room have picked up on Leksa’s heat now, and to some degree, each of them is bristling and more aggressive than usual. She knows Belomi and Abi will be careful to avoid any behavior that might be seen as a threat to Klark, because they understand the nebulous nature of their relationship with one another. But Boris is ignorant of this, and he is a more aggressive and assertive alpha than Klark, and Leksa is unmated and in heat. What could have been a calm, docile conversation about boundaries between the Skaikru and the Coalition has turned into a messy, complicated, and nuanced battle of wills, and despite wanting to keep things as civil as possible, Leksa’s chest swells with pride and her inner omega preens at the attention.

“We will renegotiate the terms of our alliance with you, Commander,” Belomi jumps in after, the muscles in his jaw jumping with his unease, “but those terms will not include falling under your banner, and they will not include removing Lexa from the Council. Her presence here can be beneficial to our continuing peace as co-existing peoples, if you let it be.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Boris is staring at her. His sharp eyes are boring holes in Clarke’s skull and the instinct to inch closer to her mate, to settle a hand on Lexa’s thigh, to stake her claim, is bordering on the undeniable. He’s unusually aggressive today, and Clarke knows why.

It’s the heat beginning to roll off Lexa in waves. It’s put all the alphas in the room a little on edge, and Boris especially. Because of Lexa’s history, because the alpha in her that had faded when the Commander’s Spirit left her is back and baring its teeth, because Lexa is unclaimed, but has claimed an alpha as her own and the power that radiates from her is almost frightening.

Bellamy and Abby have already given her side-long looks, but Boris is staring at Clarke like he’s challenging her, alpha to alpha, to stake her claim on the woman beside her and assert her dominance. The threat that if she doesn’t, he will, creeps cold and sickening in her veins. Rationally, she knows that Lexa would never choose to mate him, and she knows Boris is aware that the decision is ultimately up to Lexa, but the spike of his pheromones in the air, stronger than hers, has her on edge. They’re still negotiating, and at least the topic has left Lexa for now. But Boris is still staring at her and Clarke can’t contain the growl that shivers between her ribs. She doesn’t notice the slight pause, the hesitation, that runs in a current around the table, and the conversation picks up again when Clarke quiets, tentative but ongoing.

His alpha musk is irritating to Clarke’s nose and she knows part of Boris’s aggression now, the reason he is challenging her with glares and tilts of his chin, is because of how powerful the pull of Lexa’s scent is becoming. Clarke’s cock is swollen and hard between her thighs, and she isn’t capable of participating at the negotiations being held because it is all Clarke can do to split her attention between Boris’s stare and the ache throbbing in her lap. And every time Leksa shifts beside her, Clarke can feel her skin tingle.

Tensions rise again, but Clarke is too focused on controlling the desire coiling in her gut and the heavy, possessive growl prowling in her chest to notice. She only notices when Lexa stands beside her, chair scraping against the steel floor, and slams her fists hard on the table.

“I am not interested in stealing your throne, Commander,” Lexa’s voice is a cold, sharp hiss, and Clarke stiffens back into her seat to look in confused arousal and worry at the vein throbbing along the corded muscle of Lexa’s throat. “Everyone - get out.”

The command is startling. Clarke licks her lips and bites into them each, scrapes her teeth along them to try to force feeling back into them. Everyone is staring at Lexa, and the rich, delicious scent of her heat is swelling wildly into the air in a way that makes Clarke’s head spin. She thinks that the reason Lexa’s heat is affecting her so heavily is because of the scar searing in her neck, but it doesn’t account for the unusually aggressive behavior of the other alphas in the room. Her thoughts are scattered as first Kane, then Bellamy start to stand.

“Lexa, are you sure?” Abby says, expression guarded and dark eyes shifting between Lexa, Clarke and Boris all at once.

“This is between me and the Commander,” Lexa says through clenched teeth. Mona is staring at her stoically, and Boris beside her shifts uneasily in his chair.

“I will not leave Heda’s side,” he growls, and the flush in his cheeks spirals fury through Clarke’s stomach. But before she has a chance to snarl a challenge at him, Lexa’s hand clamps over her shoulder. Heat sears through Clarke’s shirt and her skin itches under Lexa’s palm for more contact.

“Not now, Klark,” Lexa doesn’t look at her. Her flashing eyes are glued fast to Mona’s.

Abby has to drag Clarke out of the room. It’s awkward, because there’s no hiding the erection straining against the material of her pants. She wobbles as her mother pulls her out, with Bellamy behind them, to leave Lexa, Mona and Boris alone.

“He’s on edge because of Lexa’s heat,” Bellamy comments from behind her. Clarke edges around to hide as much of her massive boner as she can.

“He’s on edge because Lexa is more Commander than Mona is, and because she’s just as much Heda as she used to be,” Kane corrects him, “but her heat isn’t helping. Once Lexa settles the air between them, we can go back to renegotiating the important details.”

“Once Clarke and Lexa are properly mated, Boris can go back to behaving like the regent he’s supposed to be,” Bellamy snorts, scorn evident in the way he raises his chin and in the flash of his eyes. The comment grates on Clarke’s nerves and Bellamy tilts his chin subtly to the side to show Clarke that he is not challenging her.

The idea that Boris is still inside the Council chamber with Lexa, with her mate, sends an icy shiver running down Clarke’s spine. The growl she’d been keeping locked in her lungs bursts from between her lips, and she feels her mouth twisting into a furious snarl. She turns back toward the door, because Lexa is _hers_ even if Clarke hasn’t been allowed to lay physical claim to her yet, and the possibility that Boris might be biting into her throat even now is burning her blood.

“Clarke, no -,” Abby’s hand closes over Clarke’s bicep, and it is more instinct than anything else to throw it off violently. The distraction lasts long enough for Kane to wedge into the space between Clarke and the door, and his smooth, cool beta scent envelopes her head to toe.

“She can handle herself, Clarke,” Kane says slowly and peers down at her. Clarke lifts her chin to look him in the eye. There’s an expression of deep concern there, and when he puts his hand on Clarke’s shoulder, Clarke forces herself to take a deep breath and nod. She knows Lexa is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She even knows that Boris is not really a threat. But her instincts are clouding her judgment and all that is helping her keep any kind of hold on her sane mind right now is Kane’s scent in her nose, soothing and gentle. “It’s a precarious situation, but one heat will not make Boris or Lexa lose all self-control.”

It’s not that simple, but for the most part, Kane is right. Clarke nods again and he pats her shoulder gently, and this time when Abby closes her hand over Clarke’s bicep, Clarke allows her mother to lead her away. Because her teeth already ache and she tastes bile in the back of her throat from the hard, steely scent of Boris’s alpha pheromones and the need to claim her mate in a visible, binding way has given her tunnel vision. Even if they were to pick up the meeting where they left off after Lexa’s confrontation with Mona is over, Clarke knows she will be more detrimental than helpful.

It’s a clumsy walk. Clarke’s cock is still hard and throbbing against her thighs. But her jacket, balled against her hips, is enough to hide the pronounced erection and Clarke manages to make it back to her hut in record time. And the minute the door shuts behind her, Clarke starts to undress hurriedly. She cannot predict if Lexa will join her after she’s finished, but the intense fullness along her shaft can’t wait for her to find out. The ache in Clarke’s cock is bordering on painful and Clarke wonders if this is the way Lexa feels during her heats, like everything else but the desire twisting in her belly is a distraction. Like there is nothing beyond the scent and taste of her mate’s skin. Like nothing exists beyond the tie between alpha and omega.

She’s naked by the time the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed. She’s already pumping her cock in her fist as she scrambles back into it. She tries to imagine that her fist is Lexa’s cunt but that only starts the knot at the base swelling hard and fast and wetness welling at the divot at the head. Her fingers are hot and sticky with her precum and she’s inches from release before the door to her cabin opens and the intoxicating smell of Lexa’s heat floods the room.

“Fuck,” Clarke grunts as fullness runs the shaft and a burst of heat explodes from the tip. Lexa’s scent is driving her to madness, and Clarke chokes on a moan when Lexa herself steps around the corner into their room. There’s a small smile curled on the corner of Lexa’s lips, and her eyes are dancing with mirth.

“I think I understand why you loved watching me fuck myself,” Lexa comments idly, and the sound of her omega’s voice, low and rough with arousal has Clarke gasping and pumping her hips hard into her hand. The air in Clarke’s lungs explodes past her lips when Lexa tugs her shirt over her head and drops it to the floor. “Keep going, Klark,” Lexa purrs as pushes her pants off her hips and drops them to the floor, “I want to watch you come.”

Clarke’s mouth dries up. Her head rolls back on her shoulders. The very sound of Lexa’s voice is sending thrills racing across her skin and a heaviness pulsing under her palm. Lexa’s hands skate across her knees, and Clarke jerks into her fist. She burns where Lexa touches her, and the barest rumor of Lexa’s belly scraping over the tip of her cock throws Clarke over the edge. She comes with a shout, hips jumping as the first hard jet barrels from the tip…

Hot silk pushes over the throbbing head. Lexa sighs softly against her ear and when Clarke opens her eyes, she finds that Lexa is already straddling her, already dripping slick wet heat down her cock, and the pleasure of it sings in Clarke’s chest. Fullness runs the length of her shaft, every consecutive shot of come is streaking down Clarke’s fist, mixed with her mate’s arousal, hot and fragrant. Clarke gasps her omega’s name, but Lexa only pushes her down into the pillows and sinks over her.

Lexa has never been more beautiful. Clarke stares open-mouthed at the way she rolls her hips, pulling and pushing to take more of Clarke’s cock deeper into her. Velvet heat wraps around her slowly, choking more whimpers and moans from Clarke’s lips. She puts her hands tentatively on Lexa’s hips and Lexa looks down at her, eyes blown with arousal, mouth curled into a soft smile that reminds her of the first she’d ever seen grace those lips. She is dizzy and lightheaded by the time their hips are joined, and her orgasm has tapered into weak ribbons but her cock still throbs with renewed fullness and her knot strains against the warm, wet lips at Lexa’s entrance.

“Please,” Clarke rasps hoarsely, unsure what she’s begging for but unable to stop herself from pleading either way. Lexa bends over her, dark nipples brushing against pink ones, and Clarke arches up into sweet smelling hair and soft, warm skin. Lexa’s elbows frame Clarke’s face, and she uses the leverage to grind down into Clarke’s knot.

“Please what, Niron?” Lexa’s words come out breathy and a little slurred. But Clarke can hear clearly the slyness in them, and she knows Lexa is teasing her. She pumps her hips into Lexa’s, wraps her arms more tightly around her mate, buries her face in Lexa’s throat and nips cautiously into the pulse pounding beneath her lips. There is no trace of Boris’ thick steely scent - only the rich warmth of earth and darkness and sanctuary. Lexa’s cunt tightens over Clarke’s cock and a growling moan tears itself from the edges of her ribs. _'_ _Please mate me!'_  she wants to scream, but there’s a hard lump in her throat and her brain can’t process the words through her tongue, too big and too clumsy in her dry mouth.

Lexa gyrates over her and peppers cool damp kisses along Clarke’s neck. “Please what, Niron?” Lexa rasps again, and Clarke whimpers when teeth scrape over the scars they left in her throat a year ago. Heat burns behind Clarke’s eyes, a hollow ache yawns in her empty chest. Her heart still lives beside Lexa’s, and Clarke is an empty vessel. She pumps her hips harder into Lexa’s and stutters at the way Lexa’s pussy clenches around her cock. Her stomach explodes into fireworks at the wet slide over her knot, and the way Lexa tilts her hips and opens her thighs and pushes gently over it.

“Take me!”

The prickling pressure over her pulse sharpens. Lexa’s fingers are in Clarke’s hair now, angling Clarke’s face into Lexa’s throat and Clarke can’t stop the whine that bursts from between her lips. She opens her mouth to suckle on firm, warm flesh, and tilts her hips cautiously into Lexa’s.

Lexa pushes down harder, wet warmth pulls at Clarke’s cock and a deep throated growl rumbles between their chests. Clarke doesn’t know which of them is growling, and it doesn’t matter, because her whole focus is on the smooth expanse of unmarred skin beneath her teeth and the pussy pulling her knot past the clenching ring of muscle at its entrance.

“Klark -,” Lexa’s moan sinks into Clarke’s skin, urging her to thrust harder, deeper, into her mate’s cunt. Tears sting the corners of Clarke’s eyes, burn as they slide down her temples, fade as they get lost in Lexa’s loose curls. Clarke’s arms are wrapped tight around Lexa’s strong, writhing body, and the hips grinding down into Clarke’s stutters her breathing so that she’s gasping for air. “Ai uf,” _my strength_ , Lexa rasps into Clarke’s throat, and Clarke’s knot sinks a little deeper into madly fluttering wet heat. “Ai tombom,” _my heart_ , twin beats hammer between their chests and Clarke is beginning to lose all notion of where she ends and Lexa begins. “Ai houmon,” _my mate_ , Clarke chokes at the way Lexa whispers those words, and then dripping silk closes completely over her knot and a scream of pleasure wrenches itself from Clarke’s gut. Pain explodes from Clarke’s throat where Lexa’s teeth sink into old scars and Lexa’s fingers are digging hard into Clarke’s scalp.

She doesn’t remember scraping her teeth over the pulse in Lexa’s neck. She doesn’t remember her shout tapering into a heavy moan. She doesn’t remember biting down hard enough to draw blood. All she knows is crippling, heartbreaking light and warmth and this feeling like she has somehow escaped reality, or like she is not merely Clarke anymore. All she feels is Lexa’s teeth in her throat, Lexa’s fingers digging into her hair, heat encasing her, the hot, coppery taste of blood on her tongue.

A moan shivers between them, and Clarke thinks it comes from both their chests. And then Lexa’s pussy clenches hard and pressure runs the full length of her cock to soak her mate’s depths. They’re coming together on a tsunami of bliss, and Clarke clenches her teeth harder around Lexa’s pulse, aching to feel every heartbeat flutter against her tongue.

She’s not sure who starts them rolling in bed, but Lexa’s strong, solid body beneath hers is a relief. Clarke pumps her hips hard into Lexa’s in time with each thick spurt of come that runs along her cock to break into Lexa’s cunt. Lexa’s teeth loosen, and a long, cracked moan breaks from her lips to sink deep into the crescent shaped lacerations Lexa’s mouth left in her throat. Wet heat convulses wildly around Clarke’s cock, strokes the knot and length hard and fast, drawing jet after jet until Clarke’s whole body aches with exhaustion. She keeps pumping, even when the torrent of hard shots taper into light trickles, and it’s only then that Clarke remembers to loosen her mouth around Lexa’s throat and lap soothingly at the deep wounds her teeth left there. Lexa’s fingertips dance up and down Clarke’s spine. The heart beating in Clarke’s chest is not her own, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

They shudder together for a while. Their shared orgasm has eased into aftershocks, but they will come again and soon. Clarke nuzzles into her mate’s throat, scarcely able to believe that Lexa is now as much hers as Clarke is Lexa’s. Lexa nuzzles into Clarke’s hair and Clarke thinks she’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Mine?” Clarke whimpers into the pulse fluttering against her lips, and can feel the smile curling into her jaw as Lexa tilts her head back in.

“Yours,” Lexa breathes, and nips gently into the searing pain throbbing in Clarke’s throat. Clarke chokes on a sob and laps at the blood welling beneath her teeth. “I’ve always been yours, Niron,” Lexa continues after a moment, voice thick and throaty and carrying every shred of emotion still thrumming between their chests, “from the moment you walked into my tent and told me I was ‘the one’.”

It’s a slight reinterpretation of what Clarke had said that day, but Clarke doesn’t care. The words curl a smile into Clarke’s lips and she lifts over Lexa just enough to look into her mate’s eyes.

They’re still dark with desire. They steal Clarke’s breath away. Salt shimmers at the corners, but the sliver of dappled green around the iris is calm, serene, and Lexa’s mouth is curled into a shy, happy smile. Affection explodes in Clarke’s belly like one of Raven’s bombs and Clarke knows she’s holding the universe in her arms at that very moment.

“What did you tell them?” Clarke brushes a wild lock of curly hair behind Lexa’s ear and smiles at the way Lexa tilts her head into her hand. “In the Council chamber. What did you tell them?”

Lexa’s shy smile turns coy and sly. Clarke bites her lip at the way Lexa turns her head again to look up at her, at the way Lexa’s eyes glitter with a mischievous kind of mirth.

“I told them that _you_ are my people now,” Lexa murmurs, “and that the only person I’m interested in commanding is you.”

Clarke means to crack a joke, to refer to Lexa as ‘Commander’ again and watch the way Lexa’s cheeks stain pink with a blush, but she forgets. Lexa’s legs tighten around her hips, fingers brush along Clarke’s cheekbones, and she leans in to steal a kiss from her mate’s sweet mouth.

Together, they tumble into orgasm again, bodies wound and entwined and tied together. Lexa’s tongue scrapes into Clarke’s mouth and soft, thick moans travel between their lips as Lexa swells beneath her with every hard, hot surge of come that breaks from Clarke’s cock. Not a drop of their shared release escapes between their bodies, even when they’ve come together a dozen times and Clarke’s knot shrinks enough to slide out. Clarke falls asleep with one hand cupped between her mate’s legs and the other buried in her mate’s hair, and Lexa curled into her, breath shallow and even against her collarbone.

 

* * *

 

 

The meetings in the Council chamber become much easier to navigate once Klark’s teeth-marks decorate her neck. Now that her scent matches that of her mate, it is easier for the other alphas to focus on the actual purposes of the meeting, rather than on dominance and challenge and instinct. There is only a single moment, right when they gather, that a current of aggression travels between Klark and Boris, but Leksa is delighted to hear the familiar swell of her mate’s growl, strong and assertive again, and her dominance over Boris is finally settled.

Klark’s heart in Leksa’s chest beats strong again. _Hers_ , just as her own heart in Klark’s chest makes her Klark’s.

And the dynamic of their previously complicated and untenable relationship with each other is finally settling into something comfortable and comforting. It is a relief to know where they stand with each other, a relief to finally be able to move forward together. It’s a relief to be the one safely caged in Klark’s arms when they sleep, a relief to feel Klark’s bare skin pressed against her own, a relief to see Klark’s bright, uninhibited smile again and to hear the confident undercurrent return to her voice. It’s a relief to share the same tender wounds, and it is a relief to finally know that they are partners, they are allies, they are mates, and that their loyalties can remain fully with each other.

And perhaps it is merely her heat, but Leksa is thrilled to know with certainty that she will feel Klark’s hot breath against her skin and Klark’s searching hands beneath her shirt and Klark’s cock and knot splitting her open the moment this meeting ends. The dull throb of Klark’s teeth-marks along her throat is pleasant and the synchrony of their scents filling the Council chamber is incredibly soothing.

Klark’s cock is already stiff and erect by the time the Heda and her regent say their formal goodbyes to the rest of the Council. Leksa stands as the ambassador between their peoples to show their visitors out, and once Belomi, Kein and Abi have all filed out after, Leksa expels a happy sigh to feel the heat of Klark’s body behind hers and Klark’s wandering hands at her waist.

“Any chance we can make it home before you ravage me?”

There are a thousand things about that singular question that has Leksa’s stomach twisting with excitement even as it rolls off her tongue. Klark’s hands scrape around her belly and slide under her shirt, and Klark’s lips are already dragging along her throat. A shiver of arousal starts along the patch of skin Klark laves with her tongue and courses through them both before pulsing in the heat of the cock Leksa can feel pressed against the swell of her ass.

“Must we?” Klark’s rough, growly whisper starts Leksa’s heartbeat thrumming wildly, and Leksa knows Klark feels it under her mouth when her mate hums a soft, amused chuckle into the nape of her neck.

Leksa forces herself to focus on the - very good, very important - reasons to wait until they’re home, but her hands are already raised above her head, buried in her alpha’s hair and she can’t stop herself from rocking back into the hard, throbbing length nestled against her backside. “Privacy -,” Leksa rasps, eyes fluttering shut at the heat slicking her underwear and the need hollowing her out, “bed’s more comfortable than the table -,” all thought flees at the way Klark grinds into her, and Leksa suddenly doesn’t care where Klark fucks her, makes love to her, mates her, so long as it happens _now_.

But Klark’s lips curl into a smile against the curve of her jaw, and Leksa whines when her mate’s hands fall from where they plucked at her binder and the heat of her body shrinks away. “Tease,” Leksa growls at her, but there’s a soft smile plucking at the corners of her own mouth and it’s quite the consolation to see the outline of her mate’s cock pressed wantonly against the front of her pants. Klark is impatient too, but there’s no rush, and going home first guarantees them the time and space to couple in comfort for as long as they want.

 

The way Klark shoves her into the door when they finally get inside starts a riot in Leksa’s chest. They scramble together to peel already sweat-soaked clothes off and Leksa barely remembers to breathe when Klark lifts her against their bedroom wall and the swollen head of her cock prods at her slick entrance. Leksa wraps her legs around her mate’s hips, their mouths crash together in a hurried kiss and a moan tears loose from Leksa’s throat as she sinks over the first inch.

“Mine.”

The growled word tumbling from Klark’s lips into Leksa’s mouth sends a dizzying arousal rippling through Leksa’s chest and belly. Her pussy clenches, she knows her heat is dripping along her mate’s shaft in warm, teasing trails, and her fingers and toes are already tingling. The way Klark impales her then with a single hard thrust of her hips takes Leksa’s breath away. She’s split open on her mate’s cock, her own heart drums a heavy, pounding beat into the heat between her legs, and the way her clit grinds against the knot swelling against her nearly has her coming instantly.

“Fuck - Klark -,” Leksa’s gasping into her mate’s mouth, and Klark’s growl shivers between them. Klark only gives her a moment to adjust to her girth before starting a punishing rhythm. Every hard pump of Klark’s hips has the flared head of Klark’s cock catching against the swell in her front wall and before Leksa can catch her breath again she’s already screaming her release into her mate’s hair.

Klark’s fingers dig into her shoulders. She’s rutting hard and fast now, and every nerve in Leksa’s body is thrumming. She tightens her arms around Klark’s shoulders, tightens her legs around Klark’s hips, because the pleasure is so dizzying she’s lost her sense of direction and balance and only the delicious weight of Klark’s body trapping her against the rough plaster digging into her back keeps her grounded. Klark’s tongue dances over Leksa’s pulse, teeth scrape over the throbbing wounds they left behind hours ago, and Leksa cranes her neck into her mate’s mouth, eager to be claimed and mated again by her lover.

“Klark -,” she loves the taste of her mate’s name on her tongue, strong and heady and sweet. Klark grunts, and the hard pulse pounding relentlessly into her cunt intensifies. Klark’s knot slamming into her clit is soaked in Leksa’s come, slick and slippery and Leksa clenches around her mate’s cock instinctively every time it rams into the throbbing ring of muscle at her entrance. “Klark -,” she knows if she says her mate’s name enough, Klark will drive her knot inside, cork her up and fill her. She knows if she says her mate’s name enough, Klark will dig her teeth into the mold they’ve already cut into her throat. She’s out of breath, but her heart is singing her mate’s name and it still comes tripping past her lips and soaking into skin scarred in the shape of her own teeth and the growl trembling between their chests tells her Klark can hear it.

A hard hand palms her ass, and another cups the ball of her shoulder. It’s her only warning that Klark is holding her in place to fuck her knot past the clenching entrance of her pussy, but Leksa is too busy digging her teeth into already scarred flesh to scream in surprise. The entire pulsing swell of Klark’s knot jogs in at once and the release that floods Leksa streaks shooting stars behind her tightly shut eyelids. Klark’s teeth are wrapped around her pulse, Klark’s tongue is scraping soothingly over it, Klark’s knot is throbbing to the beat of every thick spurt of come that floods her and the fall is not a fall it’s a plummet from the edges of space. It’s weightless, eternal, and the blood is rushing in Leksa’s ears so fast it sounds like the wind whistling past them. Her chest floods with relief and a joy so fierce and so powerful she thinks she’s never known true strength before now.

She can feel Klark’s knees buckle when she shifts them away from the wall, but they manage to stay upright. Klark’s tongue scrapes over the re-opened wounds ringing Leksa’s throat and Leksa moans gratefully into her mate’s neck. Klark’s legs tremble, but they make it to the bed and Klark’s warm, solid weight settles over her, Klark’s hips pump gently into hers, orgasm ripples under every inch of Leksa’s skin.

“Mine,” Klark pants into her throat, and the strength and confidence in Klark’s voice curls warm in Leksa’s belly.

“Yours,” she purrs back, before another gasping moan dislodges itself from her throat and Klark’s hips pick up a faster, harder rhythm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the scene I was originally going to close out this story with is going to be later added as a one-shot in this universe instead, because it could really fit into either ending and because it ties the possibilities of this story and You're All I Ever Loved so neatly into a nice little bow.
> 
> Instead, I wrote a brand new scene to close this off with that I think fits a little better into this story specifically. Hence the late posting.
> 
> Once again (and always), thank you all so much for coming back over and over again for your (over)dose of angsty, feels-infested smut. Your support means so much to me. I can't imagine a better fandom to write for. <3


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